


Just from This

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Coming Untouched, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hair Brushing, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Long Hair, Love, M/M, Making Love, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Smut, Tenderness, idk don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: Aziraphale’s hands stop moving, his fingers closing tightly around a few strands of burnt copper hair. “I wonder if I could have you finish just from this?”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 684





	Just from This

It starts, as if often does, with Aziraphale suggesting something utterly obscene in that insufferably prim, proper voice of his.

“You enjoy this very much,” he states, hands running through Crowley’s hair, now at its longest, a few years after the Apocalypse that never was. “I do wonder…”

Crowley replies with an interrogative groan, too comfortable to bother with words, head cushioned on the angel’s plush thighs, the rest of his body sprawled on their big sofa.

Aziraphale’s hands stop moving, his fingers closing tightly around a few strands of burnt copper hair. “I wonder if I could have you finish just from this?”

Crowley’s reply is a small, punched-out noise from the back of his throat. Aziraphale takes that as a _yes, let’s try_.

* * *

When it became unpractical to do otherwise, Crowley began wearing his hair in a long braid down his back.

Aziraphale undoes this braid with the utmost care, leaning back against the headboard of their bed, while the demon – stark naked as requested – sits obediently between his open knees, his back turned to the angel.

For a while all Aziraphale does is brush Crowley’s silky hair, slowly, thoroughly, and the demon’s eyes flutter close, his palms planted into the mattress behind him, his knees up against his chest.

Then, the angel leaves aside the brush and massages his scalp, starting from the crown of his head, down along his temples, and then behind his ears, ending on the back of his neck. Aziraphale’s fingers are firm but gentle as they find all the painful spots of tense muscle and rub circles into them, and Crowley makes long, low sounds of pleasure behind closed lips as his body begins to melt under the angel’s touch. When Aziraphale’s thumbs start to massage slowly at the base of his skull, Crowley almost goes boneless under these ministrations.

“Oh, my dearest,” Aziraphale sighs softly, “an angel is not supposed to enjoy material possessions.”

“That so?” Crowley manages, his eyes closed now, his body swaying gently with the rhythmic pressure of Aziraphale’s fingers.

“Hm-mm. Ah, but you are so beautiful, you see,” Aziraphale lays a kiss right behind his ear, which sends a shiver down Crowley’s bare spine, “I’ve so often wondered if you were trying to tempt me.”

“I wasn’t,” the demon replies, the praise burning pleasantly while a grin blooms slowly on his relaxed features, “you never needed my help, angel.”

“And yet,” Aziraphale stops massaging, slides his fingers through the demon’s flowing hair instead. He uncovers the curve of Crowley’s shoulder, runs an eager hand along the smooth skin. “Here you are. Stunning as anything, and mine.”

Crowley breathes in sharply, his fingers digging into the mattress beneath him. His face burns hot, his unnecessary heart flips in his chest. He puts a hand over Aziraphale’s, on his shoulder. “As you are mine.”

“As I am yours,” Aziraphale repeats, beginning to pull at Crowley’s hair, ever so gently.

He takes his time experimenting for a while. Little tugs in different places, to figure out what gets the strongest reaction from his demon, where he’s more sensitive, what sounds Aziraphale can get out of him. Crowley has completely yielded under his touch by the time Aziraphale is done with his little research – having concluded that fisting Crowley’s hair on his nape and giving it a small, sharp tug will make the demon spread his legs and his untouched cock twitch helplessly between his thighs.

Now, he gathers all the lovely red strands in the palm of his hand, closes his fingers around them. He twists his wrist, wrapping Crowley’s hair around his hand once, and begins to pull in earnest.

Crowley’s head tilts back, exposing his throat, his lips parting, the tip of his forked tongue sliding out. Aziraphale makes a proud, hungry groan at the sight – because this is a sign of abandon and bliss he doesn’t always get out of his demon.

Crowley’s back arches as Aziraphale keeps pulling and pulling, until the demon can’t go any farther – his chest taut in a perfect arch, his head thrown back as far as it’ll go, his hips rutting against nothing as he leaks all over the hard length of himself.

“When we’re done,” Aziraphale whispers into his ear, still prim as always, but a little breathless at last, “I am going to lick clean every inch of your skin.”

Crowley cries out, nails digging into the bed, his feet pressing down into the mattress as Aziraphale keeps tugging sharply, rhythmically on the hair gathered in his hand. “Angel— ”

“That’s a promise, my dear, so…” the angel replies, licking a hot stripe along Crowley’s neck, “I would recommend you make a mess of yourself for me.”

Crowley’s golden eyes fly wide open as he keens and comes, shooting hot and wet all over his chest and stomach, panting raggedly in Aziraphale’s strong arms.

Aziraphale chuckles softly, the kind of sound that made Crowley self-conscious the first times they slept together – until the angel explained that he was not laughing at him, he was just overwhelmingly delighted by their love-making.

Crowley has collapsed back against Aziraphale, who takes the chance to reach out and run a finger through the spend on his chest. He brings his hand up to the demon’s face, who doesn’t even blink before opening his lips and letting him dip two fingers inside his mouth.

Then, Crowley makes a disgruntled noise as he comes back to himself.

“Hey,” he drawls, his voice low and gravely, “this isn’t what you—you said you would—”

Aziraphale smiles fondly, barely holds back another amused chuckle.

“Of course, darling,” he replies, beginning to unbutton his own shirt and shifting to let the demon slide down from him and onto the bed, so that he can freely move, “I’m an angel of my word.”

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
